Barnum is not a great show,
but it is
fun, and even a flawed production like this one can offer a good
share of entertainment.

The 1980 musical (music by
Cy Coleman, lyrics
by Michael Stewart) tells a highly fictionalised version of the life
and career of Phineas T. Barnum, nineteenth-century American
impresario, freak show owner and circus operator.

What passes for a
plot in Mark Bramble's book is built around the supposed opposition
of Barnum's puritan wife to his wild plans (which in the show amounts
to little more than some affectionate and indulgent tut-tutting) and
a supposed (and very decorously presented) affair with singer Jenny
Lind.

The real function of the
show is as a vehicle for an
attractive, energetic and irresistibly cheeky star – think of the
young Tommy Steele or John Travolta. Or, for that matter, think of
the young Jim Dale, for whom the Broadway production was written, or
the young Michael Crawford, who played it in London.

Marcus
Brigstocke, star of this revival, is a wry stand-up comic whose image
is that of a lumbering if loveable teddy bear. Though he works
admirably hard to squeeze himself into this role, he just can't, and
remains something of a lumpen hub around which the fun spins.

Brigstocke can sing,
enunciate his lyrics clearly and (with the aid
of amplification) make himself heard over the orchestra – but never
all at the same time. You occasionally get two of the three in some
combination but generally have to settle for some one alone, with
Stewart's lyrics the biggest loser.

Brigstocke doesn't dance or
even
move with much grace, and is frequently banished offstage when big
numbers are coming. (It is possible for a big man to move beautifully
– check Robert Preston in the film of The Music Man, for
example)

The climax of Act One calls
for the star to walk a tightrope across
the stage, to symbolise the risks he's taking by starting the affair
with Jenny Lind, and the script allows for the possibility that he
might fall once and have to start over.

On this night Brigstocke
fell
twice and finally had to be helped across by a supporting chorus
member. There's no shame in that, but it somehow encapsulates the
overall sense of the dedicated actor just being wrong for the
role.

The real stars of the show
are choreographer Rebecca Howell and the
energetic chorus, who do provide almost all the theatrical vitality
of this production.

Howell not only creates
inventive patterns for
the dancers but incorporates the skills and personalities they
individually bring, so that bits of tumbling, juggling, acrobatics
and flirting with the audience are seamlessly and delightfully woven
into the dances.

Laura Pitt-Pulford (Mrs B),
Celinde Schoenmaker
(Lind) and Dominic Owen (narrator) do what they can with the little
the script gives them to do, and Harry Francis as Tom Thumb stops the
show with a song and dance delivered with the boyish energy the
musical really wants from its star.